


so quite new a thing

by redandgold



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, service au, small ears warning, vintage liverpool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/pseuds/redandgold
Summary: Robbie and Steve meet at a dinner party, which isn't the most exciting of places to meet. In fact Steve's gotten so desperately bored that he's just about to fuck off when Jamie grabs his arm with the vice-like grip of Here's Someone I'd Like You To Meet and You're Not To Make Fun Of Him, Even If He Has Very Small Ears.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neyvenger (jjjat3am)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/gifts).



> i like my body when it is with your  
> body. It is so quite new a thing.  
> i like to feel the spine  
> of your body and its bones,and the trembling  
> -firm-smooth ness and which i will  
> again and again and again  
> kiss
> 
> \- e.e. cummings

Robbie and Steve meet at a dinner party, which isn't the most exciting of places to meet, especially when it's hosted by an accountant as dull as Roy Evans. In fact Steve's gotten so desperately bored that he's just about to fuck off when Jamie grabs his arm with the vice-like grip of Here's Someone I'd Like You To Meet and You're Not To Make Fun Of Him, Even If He Has Very Small Ears.

That, naturally, is the first thing he notices about Robbie.

"Steve, this is Robbie Fowler," Jamie says. "Robbie's my real estate agent. He's the reason you're all jealous of my Albert Dock apartment."

Steve tilts his head and examines him, barely five foot nine, an open face and a firm handshake. Terrible haircut. Sort of groggy. And pudgy, like a potato, although admittedly potatoes are delicious.

"Robbie, this is Steve McManaman - he used to be in advertising, but don't talk to him about it, because he's a wet rag and will spend half an hour moaning about how awful Got Milk is."

"Duly noted," Robbie says, grinning from (small) ear to (small) ear. "Pleasure to meet you, Steve."

"Likewise." Steve raises an eyebrow at Jamie, who looks far too smug to be up to anything good.

"I was just telling Robbie that you were looking for a new place to go with your new job," he says, all smooth as that bloody moisturiser he keeps asking Steve to buy. "Was thinking he could rustle you up a crib."

"No one speaks like that anymore," Steve snorts. Robbie chokes on his champagne.

"That's because Redders is still living in the eighties, before the wrinkles started appearing."

Amidst his fit of laughter Steve looks at Robbie with newfound respect. Jamie's looking at the both of them with a new expression, too, but it's more of the about-to-commit-murder variety.

"Knew you two melts would get along," he says, rolling his eyes and unconsciously reaching for his forehead, which causes the other two to break out into even snider laughter. "Robbie, if you're getting him a place, make it as far away from mine as possible, yeah?"

Steve gazes at his retreating back with a growing foreboding of being left alone with a relative stranger. The last time this had happened he'd somehow managed to call them a sanctimonious little toerag and poor Louise had to spent three hours feeding them tea to calm them down. To be fair, it's very hard to take someone called Grobbelaar seriously. He looks back to see Robbie staring at him intently, sort of like he's trying to figure him out, and runs an embarrassed hand through his hair. If he can go for five minutes without mentioning the word toerag he'll be all right. Probably.

"So, you're from Liverpool too?"

"Yeah. Toxeth." Robbie pulls a face. "Bit grubby round the edges. Just like me."

"Your edges are fine," Steve says absently. Robbie's startled into a laugh like he doesn't know what else to say. Steve's not sure why he said that in the first place, really. He blames it on the champagne because it's there and god knows he's blamed it for a lot of things before.

"How'd you know big shot pretty boy, then?" Robbie asks instead, jerking his head over to where Jamie is fake-laughing at boring accountant Roy Evans's joke. Steve didn't even know that accountants could tell jokes.

"Unfortunate chance. His car broke down before the big Blackburn game in '98 and I had to give him a lift. Regretted it ever since."

Turns out Robbie's one of those blue-to-red traitors too, and they fall into a relaxed conversation about the merits of Henderson and whether topknot Moreno or loofah-head Moreno is worse. Robbie's surprisingly - almost alarmingly - easy to talk to, and besides his completely wrong opinion on platinum blonde hair, Steve finds himself liking him. Which is why, when Robbie asks if he wants to see a couple houses next week, he says yes probably faster than he ought to have.

"Had a good time?" Louise asks as they're dropping Steve off after. She's evidently been spending far too much time with her husband because she's got the same knowing 'nudge nudge, big man' smirk on her face. Combined with her usual sweetness the effect is vaguely disorienting, like a teddy bear trying to be kinky.

"Yeah," Steve says, rolling his eyes. The weight of Robbie's name card settles in his pocket like a rock.

 

 

 

The sun's just disappearing behind a bank of cloud when Robbie runs up, panting like an out-of-breath potato. "Sorry," he gasps, patting his clipboard as if to offer an explanation (it doesn't).

"Real estate agents who're late for their own appointments?" Steve raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure Redders has got my best interests in mind."

"Give us a chance," Robbie whines through his huffing and puffing as he fumbles with the key to the door. "I might not get anything done on time, but I'm very good at it."

"Showing houses?"

"Nah. Not getting anything done."

It turns out he's not bad at the showing houses lark either, and by the end of the day Steve's seen a whole bunch and has a promise of more if he doesn't like any of them. "Where do you stay?" he asks Robbie offhand as they're grabbing a quick dinner in a cafe. Robbie shrugs.

"With me parents."

"Really?" Steve tilts his head. "Funny that. Hotshot like you, I'd have been expecting a nice big countryside mansion type."

"Are you kidding? Imagine all the cleaning I'd have to do."

"Hire someone, I dunno."

"Nah. I like smaller places. I'd love to have a small apartment somewhere in the heart of Liverpool, y'know, beige walls, a balcony overlooking the Mersey, open kitchen, nice living room with a huge-arsed TV screen to yell at Mignolet. Picture of Anfield over the sofa. Tiny, maybe, but nice."

"Like your ears," Steve says, unable to help himself.

Robbie grins. "Like your di - "

 

 

 

It's in the middle of a particularly uninteresting board meeting that Steve's phone goes off in his pocket. Robbie whispers _I've not got small fucking ears_ through the tinny ringtone recording and Steve turns bright red and runs out of the room.

"Mate, you're a right prick, you know that?" he growls in the toilet while he can hear Robbie corpsing around on the other side of the line. "What are you, five?"

"Oh, lighten up, Macca. All in good fun. Tell 'em it's research for a new ad you're working on."

"Yeah?" Steve sneers. "Call it Lineker Liquid. Rectifies abnormal ear sizes. You could probably do with five pints."

"Doesn't sound like it's for me, mate." Robbie pauses and reconsiders. "Tell you what, I'll take the pint without the ex-striker teletubby. You free tonight?"

The correct answer would have been no, but Steve finds himself in a pub the night before a huge, career-defining presentation anyway. Robbie has that sort of effect on him, he realises, even as he's also realising the futility of coming early to any meeting with Robbie. It's fine. The ten minutes of waiting allow him to seriously reassess his position and attempt to answer the question _what the hell am I doing_ , although he arrives at no satisfactory answer.

Robbie comes in the end, bearing two pints as penance and a smile that's far too wide for his potato face. "Don't tell Redders," he confides as he's nearing the bottom of his pint. "I'm supposed to be off the wagon and all that."

"Why?" Steve asks, genuinely curious. It isn't like Jamie's the paragon of teetotaler virtue, and somehow he hadn't pegged Robbie for one either.

"I do very embarrassing things when I'm drunk," Robbie says, and giggles. Steve's half expecting some sort of ominous background music to echo in the background. "And after the last time when I tried to climb into the bath with Redders he wasn't having any of that anymore."

"Well, you're definitely not coming back to mine."

Steve means it as a joke but Robbie looks almost coy as he downs the rest of his glass. It's just the light, Steve decides as he gets the next round. Just the light and the seedy pub atmosphere and that stupid bashful potato smile that flits across his face every so often.

When Robbie starts singing _Lady In Red_ \- an incident Steve isn't entirely sure only happens when he's drunk - Steve figures it's time to go home before things get worse. Robbie slings his arm around Steve's shoulder, which is no mean feat considering the vast height difference, and nods agreeably.

"'ll drive you home."

"The only thing you'll be driving is me up the wall," Steve assures him. With a little help from the barman he manages to drag Robbie to the passenger seat of his car. Robbie collapses into the leather and laughs feebly.

"I have such stubby fingers."

Steve gives them a cursory glance as he guns the engine. "True." There is no way he's going to bring Robbie home to Mama Fowler in such a state, and he's also slightly dubious of just how much he's allowed to drive given the steadily increasing throbbing in his head. So it's just as well that his place is a five minute crawl down a straight road and getting there requires very little ability to function.  

Robbie's fast asleep by the time they pull up in front of the house, and Steve has to unceremoniously lug him across the ground and up to the door like the sack of potatoes he is. He makes it to the door, smashes on the light and bundles Robbie onto the sofa. "I just wanted to buy a sodding house," he mutters as he falls onto the seat next to Robbie, rubbing the back of his head. "Fucking hell, Redders. Set me up with someone who actually stays conscious next time."

 

 

 

He misses the presentation the next day. Surprisingly, he finds he doesn't mind that much.

 

 

 

Robbie calls him later, his voice a mix between genuine apology and a measure of amusement. "Thanks for making sure I didn't wake up in a dumpster somewhere."

"Did you see my place?" Steve jokes, looking down at his crumpled shirt from his splayed-out position on the sofa. He can't really remember what happened after falling asleep next to Robbie, his weight pressed against his knee. It hadn't been entirely uncomfortable, although the implications of that thought were.

"Heh. Well. It was nice showing you around."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, bolting upright.

"You probably aren't looking for a house anymore, are you?"

"What, just because of one drunken night?" Steve snorts. "You've got a lot to learn about me if you think that sort of thing's going to put me off getting my damn house."

Even over the line he can hear a shade of relief run through Robbie. "Oh. That's good. For my commission, I mean."

"Uh-huh." Steve leans towards the coffee table, where Robbie's left a shot glass he must have taken from the pub last night. Obviously they're not going back there again _._ He picks up the glass and rolls it between his fingers, grinning. "See you Friday?"

"Friday sounds good."

Steve hangs up and puts the glass down, then puts his face in his hands. Real estate is a lot more bloody complicated than he'd thought.

  
  


It's three more weeks of day tripping across Liverpool when Steve's job allows for it, and it's three more weeks of Robbie's company in small spaces; the dashboard of the car, the living rooms of the flats, the cramped confines of Robbie's spectacularly dismal office. Every minute is an exquisitely painful cross between an odd light-headedness and a strange hollow in his stomach. He tries not to think about it. Like most things in his life, he's not very unsuccessful.

They don't go out drinking again (Robbie insists and Steve isn't going to protest). But sometimes they're so tired bouncing around houses that they go back to Steve's and Robbie makes them tea while they thrash each other at Fifa. Sometimes they watch buddy cop movies and Steve slings his arm around Robbie and Robbie lets him, like it's not something they even think about, like it was always meant to happen. And there's nothing in it, really, just biscuits, friendship, the warmth of the Earl Grey steaming against his fingertips. Just finding out things that maybe you shouldn't know about your real estate agent, like how he hates pineapple on pizza and the fact that he spends his Saturday nights watching Strictly (not just because Louise is on but because he actually likes it). These things don't form a proper basis on which to fall in love, he knows, but he does it anyway.

_Watching Strictly?_

_Nah. Falling in love._

"How's it going?" Jamie asks at half time of the Northwest derby. It's Monday Night Football and he's off duty, which means he's gotten Main Stand tickets to possibly the most boring game Steve has watched this season. Robbie couldn't make it - he had dinner plans - and Steve finds himself thinking about it more than he should be. "Find any nice houses yet?"

"Yeah," Steve says, shifting in his seat. "Gonna sign a deal soon, actually."

"S'not the one next to mine, yeah?" Jamie pulls a face. "I told him I'd kill him if it came to that."

"I'd have to kill _you_ if I lived next to you."

"I'd like to see you try, big man, Louise would come after you with a vengeance."

"How sure are you about that?"

"Anyway," Jamie says, shifting his attention back to the game. "Glad you got a place. Take your time in thanking me for the great intro."

"Thank you."

The players in red run across the pitch, hounding down the enemy like terrier dogs. Jamie jumps and yells as Coutinho almost squeezes a rifle shot off, and Steve just sits there, thinking it's the first time he's ever been proper sincere to Jamie, wondering what it means.

 

 

 

"You've got good taste," Robbie concedes when the deal goes through in the end. It's a new apartment, unfurnished, but it's open and it's bright and it's small enough to feel like home. "It's just the sort of place I'd buy."

"I figured." Steve grins from where he's signing the contract, his heart heavy. "Did you just imply that you have good taste?"

"Maybe." Robbie leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. "Found you this, didn't I? Now all you need is to find a good interior designer and you're all set."

"Actually - " Steve hesitates, looks up at him. "Was wondering if you could help me with that. You see all sorts of showflats, don't you? I figure you'd be good at decorating."

Robbie probably doesn't know shit, but Steve can see him puffing out his chest just a little, the way he knew he would. "The best," he smirks. "Trust me, Macca. It's gonna look absolutely beautiful when I'm done with it."

"Absolutely beautiful," Steve echoes, his gaze still resting on Robbie, unblinking.

 

 

 

Steve walks into every furniture shop he knows (even though Robbie's probably just going to pick Ikea for everything) and catalogues everything, tables and bookshelves and kitchen cabinets. Robbie, being Robbie, sends his replies back in emoticons, some of which Steve doesn't even really understand. _Why's the fucking moon smiling?_

_It's meme culture, you don't have to understand it._

Robbie's taste really isn't bad, and it comes together slowly; a sofa here, pillowcases there. Sometimes Robbie comes to wait with him for the delivery van, sipping at his tea and eating with his bloody mouth open. "Don't you have a job?" Steve asks, shaking his head.

"What do I need a job for?" Robbie retorts. "Redders pays me enough to wash his dishes and the like."

"Does he really? Can you do mine?"

"I will if you promise never to make fun of my ears again."

"Small chance. Really fucking small chance."

Robbie hits him with a roll of bubble wrap. Steve ducks out of the way, laughing, catching Robbie's head in his arm, his hair in his fingers. Maybe he can stay like this forever. Robbie quiet by his side.

 

 

 

"You free for housewarming this Saturday?"

"Is Roy the Most Boring Man In The World Evans going to be there?"

"No."

"All right."

"Bring tea."

Robbie doesn't bring tea, but he brings a nice bottle of wine and actually bothers to wear a shirt not dug out from the laundry pile. "This is the stuff you drink, innit?" he says, shoving the bottle into Steve's hands and turning to hang his coat up on the rack. "Am I the earliest?"

"-ish," Steve says, shuffling his feet on the carpet.

"What d'you mean -ish? Is Redders here already? He is, isn't he, the twat, I knew I should've come earlier - "

"He isn't coming."

Robbie looks at Steve like he's just sprouted another ear. "Christ, did you two fall out or something?"

"What?" Steve scoffs. "Of course not, he's my best mate."

"I thought I was." Robbie genuinely looks hurt. Steve shakes his head and doesn't know whether to smack him or kiss him.

"You are, it's just - " he waves him over to the sofa. Robbie sits, obligingly, and Steve falls into place next to him. "- the housewarming's next week."

"Listen, Macca, if you got me all the way here just to wind me up - "

"I was kind of thinking we could greet people together."

"Why on earth would we do that? It's not like I bloody live here."

Steve's phone goes then, _I've not got small fucking ears_ ringing across the room. Robbie stares at him. "It's been a month, mate."

"I like it." Steve shrugs. And then everything clicks.

Robbie's mouth pauses in an O, puckered up in faint surprise. Steve shifts in his seat, his face redder than Jamie. His arm moves closer to Robbie's shoulder before pulling back and pressing against the wall instead. It's beige, the wall. Robbie sweeps his head slowly around the flat, taking in the open concept kitchen, the balcony over the Mersey, the TV big enough to yell at Mignolet on. He looks up and finds Anfield dangling over his head, lights on, flags in the air.

Steve watches. Steve watches his gaze fall onto the table in front of them, the laptop still open from where he'd been working. "That doesn't look like advertising," Robbie says, maybe because he can't figure to say anything else.

"I used to work in advertising," Steve reminds him. "Not anymore."

"What d'you do now?"

"Interior design." Steve laughs then, his face cracking up like an old oil painting, fracturing at the seams as the fading sun spills over through the windows. Robbie's eyes go wide and he looks at him half-accusing.

"So you could've basically decorated this place yourself and it'd have looked a shit ton nicer."

"Less Ikea, for sure."

"And you asked me because you wanted me to move in."

"Too creepy?" Steve bites his lip. Suddenly this doesn't sound like a great idea.

"Really fucking creepy."

But there's a smile on Robbie's face and without warning he leans up, pulls Steve's head down to his level and presses his lips against his. Steve feels his breath go out of him with a _whumph_ and he kisses back, running his tongue across the inside of Robbie's bottom lip, feeling him shiver. His skin tingles beneath Robbie's fingertips, pressed against the back of his neck and tangled in the blonde curls he really ought to fucking cut. He breathes in Robbie's cologne that stings his nose, makes him giddy, makes him think of flying.

"I'm not so sure about this," Robbie frowns when they break apart, breathing hard. "You're a right terrible kisser."

"I'll work on it," Steve promises, his arm settling into the familiar crook of Robbie's neck as he grins. Robbie leans into him all soft. Their legs rest against each other.

"Guess it does beat living with the 'rents."

"I'll still tell you to go to our room and shit."

"What, I don't even get my own room?"

"Deal with it, would you? I'm a bit hard up at the mo'. I just bought our fucking house."

"Mm. True."

The last shards of sun have slipped below the Mersey. Steve looks out the window and sees people hurrying home, their collars turned up against the wind. The rain beats a persistent pattern against the pavement, bursting past the curtains the way only Northern weather can.

"It's fucking freezing," he says suddenly, like he hasn't noticed.

"Is it?" Robbie murmurs. "You go close the fucking windows, then."

Steve looks down. Robbie's tiny ears are squished against his chest, his eyes closed, stupid potato smile all across his face. He nuzzles closer and Steve pulls his arm tight on instinct, his fingers scrunched up in the fabric of Robbie's sleeve.

"Nah," he says, feeling his heart settle into place like dew on grass. "It's not that cold after all."

**Author's Note:**

> \- OK SO THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A LAST MIN SUB TREAT bc I saw ur tweet about having a pinch hit on ur request but then I got all superstitious bc it was like the week before the derby and I was like no i must _not_ be scouse trash so I only finished it today and now it's too late ;-;  
>  \- based on [au idea number 5](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/post/150415373290/i-want-more-service-industry-aus-that-arent-just) and also I think it was your??? tweet about your fav trope being looking at something and saying something but whiCH THING IS HE TALKING ABOUT (but I can't find it on ur twitter omg im sorry if it wasn't u!!!)  
> \- in this au everything is much the same as rl except mcgrowler never played pro footie and robbie is a real estate agent and macca is ex ad man / interior designer  
> \- Roy Evans is the first manager they played for and I found that hilarious  
> \- Macca apparently got into a fight with Bruce Grobbelaar once  
> \- was redders shipping them from moment 1???? I think yes  
> \- I think topknot Moreno was worse but loofah Moreno comes close  
> \- [actual ridiculous cuteness of tea making](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/post/138478477645/skrtelshead-at-robbies-place)  
> \- Robbie pulling Macca's head down is from [this](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/post/137221366625/mesutings-skrtelshead-neyvenger)  
> \- Julija one of the Best Scousers ive ever met (and thats a compliment considering how many I know) this is for u and i hope it puts a smile on ur face, even a small one, bc u deserve all the happiness in the world <3


End file.
